


Potential

by wilddragonflying



Series: The Sorceress and the Griffin [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gift Giving, Inspired by Fanfiction, Introspection, courting, just a smidgen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: From the moment Yennefer joins Kaer Mohren, Ealdred is drawn to her. It takes years to realize their potential, but that's alright; he can be patient. Time is the one thing all but guaranteed to to Witchers and soreceresses both.
Relationships: Ealdred/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: The Sorceress and the Griffin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957009
Comments: 14
Kudos: 180





	Potential

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Oh, Be For Me The Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454292) by [inexplicifics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexplicifics/pseuds/inexplicifics). 



Ealdred is in the stables when the mages arrive. He’s checking over Yarrow, who’d come in from the field limping that morning, when there’s a commotion in the yard in front of the main entrance. Shouts go up, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his medallion quite literally _humming_ with how hard it vibrates against his armor. Yarrow is tied, so Ealdred wastes no time grabbing the dagger he keeps sheathed at his side, readying Aard as he darts from the stable. 

He’s not the only one; Witchers practically _pour_ from Kaer Mohren, readying themselves for anything. The Bears stand in the front, Manticores and Griffins behind them, and the rest spreading out as the source of the Chaos swelling in the cold mountain air becomes apparent: a portal, large enough for five Witchers to walk through abreast, opens. Eight people come through, and the woman at the front, her hands raised and glowing with the same crackling gold as the edges of the portal, catches Ealdred’s eye immediately.

She’s clearly the leader; the rest follow her in a loose v-shape, and when she drops the portal and looks at the Witchers arrayed in front of her, Ealdred - having joined his brothers just behind the Bears - can see the flicker of apprehension on her expression that she quickly hides as Geralt steps forward, Eskel his ever-present shadow. They both have their swords at the ready, and it’s Geralt who speaks first. “What is the meaning of this?” he asks - _snarls,_ really, and Ealdred can’t blame him. These mages - they must all be mages, surely - practically just _waltzed_ onto Geralt’s territory, into his _home,_ where his cub and his family and his people live. Cats and Wolves are notoriously territorial, and if Geralt were not the White Wolf, he might not have bothered speaking with the mages before attacking.

The woman steps forward, meeting Geralt’s gaze without flinching, a feat that kings and lords have never managed. “We wish to swear ourselves to the White Wolf,” she answers, clear and loud enough to echo over the courtyard for the humans to hear.

Ealdred watches from the corner of his eye as Geralt and Eskel share a complicated look before they finally sheathe their swords. A gesture from Geralt has the rest of the Witchers following suit, and the ringing sound of metal sliding home makes the mages jump - but not the leader, Ealdred notes. Her gaze never leaves Geralt and Eskel, until Geralt gestures for her and the other mages to follow him into the keep. Ealdred watches them go, watches the leader walk with her head high through a sea of suspicious Witchers, and makes a note to keep an eye on her, should the mages stay.

Three days later, when the White Wolf announces the new allegiances of the mages, Ealdred finds his gaze drifting to the woman, whom the White Wolf introduces as Yennefer, and can’t quite dismiss the feeling of _potential_ that stirs beneath his breastbone.

He’s not foolish enough to act on it, not yet, but… 

Well, Witchers who don’t fall in battle these days can live for centuries; sorceresses are just as long-lived, if not more. Ealdred has time to explore this _maybe._

* * *

Yennefer quickly finds a place on the Wolf’s council, becoming his magical advisor. Ealdred is impressed, and more than a little curious as to why _she_ earned that position - clearly she’s charismatic, since she lead the mages from Aretuza and Ban Ard to the Wolf. She’s powerful, as well; anyone who passes her in the hall can feel the Chaos that follows like her shadoow. But to be on the Wolf’s council, Geralt must see something _more_ in her, and that - that intrigues Ealdred.

She also gives no protest when the Witchers of Kaer Mohren call for the sorcerers’ blood when they decry the use of Triss’s new potion, and Ealdred can see, even from his seat at the Griffin table, the disgust upon her expression when they claim the deaths of seven in ten boys a _necessity_ for their fucking _experiments._

After that, Yennefer spends more time with the Witchers. She moves from school to school, learning about them, but Ealdred doesn’t have a chance to meet her until Geralt requests that he come along with them and Vesper from the Cats for a tricky hunt. The evidence they gather indicates either bruxae or rogue mages, though the Witchers lean towards bruxae. Still, Ealdred stays close to Yennefer, though he’s careful not to crowd her. They exchange brief conversations before Geralt and Vesper veer off of the path to investigate a scent on the wind - and when the first bruxae attacks, Ealdred doesn’t hesitate before throwing a Quen over himself and Yennefer. HIs medallion vibrates, and he hears the crackle of Yennefer’s magic, and without thinking about it, he drops Quen and reorients himself, putting his back to Yennefer’s.

That same _potential_ feels almost alive, dancing between them as they weave around each other, Ealdred’s Signs mingling with Yennefer’s magic, his sword flashing to take the head from one of the creatures that attacked them, and then another - and then Yennefer _incinerates_ the last, and Ealdred is saved from a frankly embarrassing moment of staring in naked admiration at the extraordinarily powerful sorceress by Geralt and Vesper’s reappearance. 

He turns, listening with one ear as Yennefer begins interrogating Geralt on bruxae, and bends to rummage through their backs. His knuckles brush against a couple of empty vials, and… An idea forms. Yennefer is a sorceress, and is clearly interested in monsters. They can’t bring the corpses back to be studied, but…

Ealdred snags the vials, quickly filling them with blood from the closest corpse before slipping them into Yennefer’s pack and grabbing his cleaning cloth, turning his attention to his swords.

* * *

Ealdred often passes Yennefer in the hallway, and each time he does, he gives her a respectful nod. More than a few times, he encounters her in the library, and in the alchemical gardens, and if the opportunity presents itself, he strikes up a conversation. They never last very long, but they always leave Ealdred thinking; Yennefer is a good conversationalist, and has a unique way of approaching problems that Ealdred would never have considered. Combined with the bruxae hunt, this, he later muses, is the start of his admiration of her.

The… _fondness_ comes when he sees how she is with the cub. There are few secrets in Kaer Mohren, and Yennefer’s certainty that Cirilla will be the most powerful sorceress in centuries is not one of them. Yennefer will be her tutor once her magic appears, but any who sees them interact at dinner can see that Yennefer doesn’t see Cirilla as merely a protege; Ealdred would not be surprised if Yennefer felt that Ciri was the daughter she could never bear. Cirilla adores Yennefer in equal measure, and nobody begrudges their relationship.

The garden conversations continue, and Ealdred continues to observe Yennefer whenever the opportunity arises. His admiration and his fondness grows - and then falters, when Geralt takes Yennefer to his bed. They seem genuinely fond of one another, though there’s a certain pinched quality to Yennefer’s expression when Geralt is too intimate where others can see.

Then, the Wolf goes to war. It seems a normal battle, at first; a lord who has overstepped his bounds, taken advantage of his people and abused their trust and their faith. A terrified servant who fled the lord’s manor, traveled to the Wolf’s lands and spoke with a Witcher on patrol, who sent a message back to Kaer Mohren. The mages sequester themselves for long days of divination and scrying, and then the Wolf announces that they march to war at dinner. 

They leave the next day, and find the lord’s army waiting for them. At the front is a champion, wielding a blade as long as he is tall, who challenges Geralt to single combat. Geralt accepts - and the champion’s first blow nearly cleaves him in two. Had Geralt been any other Witcher, he would be dead; because he is the White Wolf, however, he manages to jump back, taking the blow across his chest, flesh parting beneath a blade that glints too-red in the midday sun. A _howl_ goes up from every Witcher, and as the Wolf stumbles, they surge forward; cursed weapons are rare, but to use one in single combat makes null any explicit or implicit etiquette, even Ealdred cannot contest this. 

He focuses on the champion, who fades into the ranks of the lord’s army, as Yennefer and Eskel reach Geralt, as Yennefer opens a portal.

He owes the Wolf blood.

The champion does not live long after Ealdred takes one of the hands that had wielded the sword that tried to slay the White Wolf, and when the battle is over, Ealdred takes a moment to compose himself, wipe the worst of the blood from his face and his armor before he searches out Geralt’s tent. He finds an herbalist making her way to it, and steps in her path. “My apologies, but do you go to tend to the Wolf?” he asks, gesturing to the tray in her hands.

She raises an eyebrow. “Yes; I’m bringing his next dose of potions, and bringing food for Lady Yennefer and Lady Triss.”

“Would you bring Lady Yennefer this, as well?” Ealdred asks, presenting the hand he’d wrapped in a scrap of cloth. “The hand that tried to slay the Wolf. I believe she would appreciate it as a gift.”

The herbalist gives him a disgusted look, her doubt of his sanity easily read in her gaze, but she reaches out and takes the corners of the cloth by her fingertips. “Very well,” she says, setting it on the corner of the tray. “I’ll bring Lady Yennefer your… gift.” She shakes her head and moves around him, and Ealdred doesn’t fight the small smile that curls his lips at her parting words: “Witchers and sorceresses who think bloody severed hands are appropriate gifts. What _have_ you got yourself into, Alaina?”

* * *

Yennefer and Geralt’s relationship lasts for another few months, and in that time, Ealdred cannot stop the way he thinks of Yennefer, though he takes care not to show anything but the utmost respect to her whenever they speak. He is not even _jealous,_ truly; Yennefer is powerful and beautiful, but more than that, she is _good,_ though she doesn’t seem to believe it herself. She deserves happiness, no matter who she finds it with, and though Ealdred wishes it could be him, he accepts that it is not.

Then Yennefer and Geralt have a falling-out; they don’t speak for a week, and the atmosphere at the Wolf table is downright _chilly,_ subduing even the Cats at their table. Ealdred doesn’t see Yennefer much during that week, but he’s as relieved as anyone else when it seems that she and Geralt have sorted things out between the two of them, and things in Kaer Mohren settle into a new normal. 

It’s shortly after that that Ealdred finds Yennefer in the alchemical gardens, a thoughtful frown on her expression as she consults a paper in her hand. Clearing his throat to announce his presence, Ealdred dares to step closer. “My lady, you seem lost in thought. Is there anything I can help with?”

Yennefer sighs. “Unless you can make oleander appear from thin air, I’m afraid not,” she tells him. “I took an inventory of this garden, and noticed it’s one of the few ingredients missing.”

It takes barely a moment for Ealdred to place the name. “Ah, yes - it grows at lower elevations, where the temperature is steady and the air is warm and moist,” he recalls. “That is… exactly the opposite of Kaer Mohren, and no one has been able to make it grow indoors.”

“Well, you never had mages who were inclined to the study of alchemical ingredients,” Yennefer says archly. “We’ve worked out a way to reproduce the perfect conditions for oleander, as well as the other plants that the garden is missing, but - Well, the horticulturist I had arranged to purchase a few shrubs from had her cuttings fail this year.” She shrugs. “It happens, unfortunately. But it will be another year before she has another batch of cuttings that are established well enough to weather the travel to the keep.”

Ealdred frowns, thoughtful. “Is there a dire need for oleander? It’s largely poisonous, if I recall correctly.”

“It is, but having some to study and work with would benefit Triss and the Manticores,” Yennefer says. “So, not a _dire_ need, but simply annoying that this plan did not work. I prefer being prepared over needing to scramble for rare components.”

Ealdred nods, an idea forming in the back of his mind. “Well, I wish you luck, Lady Yennefer,” he says, bowing deeply - smiling when she rolls her eyes at his ‘theatrics,’ as she’s called them before - and taking a step back. “I came to gather some ingredients for Kiss, so I will leave you to your preparations.”

Yennefer waves a hand. “Yes, yes. Get out of here, you puffed-up Griffin.”

* * *

From then on, Ealdred asks his brothers to keep an eye out for rare ingredients, components, and mutagens when they are out on patrol. What he wants them _for,_ he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t hide it, either, and when they figure it out, he puts up with their teasing. He’s aware that most Witchers avoid mages, but… Triss created the testing potion, the one that ensures no more boys die screaming to the Grasses. She has patched up more Witchers than any healer, and she saved the White Wolf’s life. Yennefer is on the Wolf’s council, she teaches his cub, and has proven her loyalty again and again. Most Witchers avoid mages, yes, but _this_ sorceress has captured Ealdred’s attention, and his heart, and he is content to play the long game.

He is not planning on dying anytime soon; he has time to work his way into her good graces, to gradually bring himself to her mind as the same _potential_ that he’s long since felt for her. 

Shortly after the bard joins Kaer Mohren, Ealdred decides to begin including notes in his gifts for Yennefer. They are never long, and he never signs them - until he starts using the crest, the only thing he remembers from the time before he was a trainee, pressed in brass on the buckles of his father’s bridle. A craftsman’s mark, he thinks, not a family crest. But it’s something he’s used for years in other ways, marking his armor and his weapons and his tack for Yarrow. 

He half-expects Yennefer to have already realized through some magical means that he’s the one behind the gifts; she never confronts him, though, and so he feels safe still leaving them for her. During lunch one day, as he studies a medical text that was brought in on a recent tribute wagon, he overhears Yennefer complaining to Jaskier that she no longer had access to a certain spellbook from Aretuza’s library - a grimoire, apparently, of one of the sorceresses who studied under the elves. His interest piqued, Ealdred listens to their conversation for a few more minutes, making notes of what he hears - and when they move to other topics, he gets to his feet, and makes for his chambers.

He has a few letters to write.

* * *

Derrick comes through with admirable swiftness; shortly after Ealdred returns from patrol with Gweld, Kolgrim, and Dragonfly with a noblewoman in tow, a package arrives. It’s a leather-bound tome, and Derrick’s included letter tells Ealdred that this isn’t the original, not the one that Aretuza has - but this grimoire is a perfect copy, one of only a few in existence. It had cost Ealdred more than a few favors, and _quite_ a lot of coin, but to have a gift this rare for Yennefer is worth it.

The last thing he expects when he leaves his chambers to deliver this tome to Yennefer workshop is to be confronted by the sorceress herself - but he most certainly is not complaining about the outcome of their conversation by the time he heads for the training grounds.

Coën is the first to spot him, and by the time Ealdred reaches him, Coën is grinning. “You look like Stefan when he got that crossbow of his to work the first time,” he says, clapping Ealdred on the shoulder. “Something we should know about, brother?”

Ealdred gives him a good-natured shove, unsheathing his sword. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Coën.”

“Of course you don’t. Did _Lady_ Yennefer smile at you today? Glance in your direction? _Wave?_ ”

Ealdred doesn’t bother waiting for Coën to signal he’s ready before he attacks; Coën wouldn’t be a Witcher if he wasn’t constantly ready. “If you must know,” he says, affecting an air of casualness, “I gave her an incredibly rare book today. A grimoire of a renowned sorceress.”

“You mean you snuck into her workshop and left a gift like a reverse thief,” Coën laughs.

“No, I don’t.” Ealdred’s sword _clashes_ against Coën’s, and he meets his brother’s gaze, grinning. “I mean, I gave it to her - and asked to court her. She accepted my suit.”

“ _What?_ ” Coën demands, delighted. His stance relaxes, guard dropping slightly. “You mean you finally found the balls to ask her like a normal person?”

Ealdred winces at the reminder of his friends’ constant teasing of the past few years. He’s aware of more than a few Witchers staring at them, but he focuses on Coën, pressing his advantage and forcing Coën back onto his heels. “Yes, I asked her. And she accepted.” He can’t help his smile, knows that it’s ‘besotted,’ but frankly, he doesn’t care. “She _accepted_.”

Coën’s expression softens. “Well, I’m glad for you. But don’t think anyone will go easy on you just because you’re courting the Wolf’s left hand!”

Ealdred throws his head back and laughs. “I would be insulted if you did!”

* * *

After the night Yennefer kisses him for the first time, Ealdred feels as though he’s walking on clouds. What they said, it wasn’t a love confession, but coming from Yennefer - Yennefer, who is never one for public affection, who gets uneasy if anyone’s touch lingers too long where others can see - what was said means so much _more_. Their dynamic shifts after that night, too; they touch more frequently, though still rarely in public. Ealdred isn’t a Wolf or a Cat; he doesn’t mind if Yennefer doesn’t care to sit in his lap. She _does_ care to sit at his side, to tuck herself under his arm as they read, or to rest her ankle against his under a table if they are both researching late into the night. Those are more than enough for him, especially when combined with the kisses they share now when they meet in the garden or in the library.

Ealdred asks her to dance the next time Jaskier plays dancing music and the Witchers move the tables, and Yennefer _laughs,_ delighted and - obvious only to those who truly _know_ her - just a little shy, as she takes his hand. “I am the most lucky Witcher here,” he murmurs, under the cover of the music and the sound of dozens of partners on the dance floor. “To have the privilege of holding beauty and power such as yours in my arms.”

Yennefer smacks his shoulder, but Ealdred can read the pleased flush to her ears that has nothing to do with the exertion of dancing, and he carries the warmth in his chest the sight elicits with him for _weeks_ after.

It’s replaced by a brighter ember, breathed to life by Yennefer’s lips against his in the hall outside of her chambers, where she’d brought him after another night of dancing. She opens the door with a wave of her hand, and leads Ealdred inside. He barely pays attention to the opulence and comfort of the room - it pales in comparison to Yennefer, guiding his hands to the laces of her dress, the quiet contentment of her expression overshadowed quickly by hunger, hunger that echoes in Ealdred’s chest.

He touches her with reverence, worships her as she deserves, and brings her to climax as many times as she’ll let him. He gets his own pleasure when Yennefer takes hers for the last time, rolling him to his back and straddling his hips, candlelight flickering over her skin, turning her hair into the night over a campfire, her eyes to glittering amethyst.

Afterwards, she lets him hold her as she never has before, and Ealdred has the vague thought that he could die, right now, and die a happy man. He’s drawn from the thought by Yennefer’s fingers drumming against his chest, the tips coming to rest against his amulet. She still wears the Wolf’s amulet, as part of his council, but Ealdred thinks perhaps she could find a place for a Griffin’s head as well. A broach, perhaps, or maybe a ring.

Yennefer draws in a deep breath, and there’s a minute tenseness to her shoulders beneath his arm, accompanied with the brief flare of nervousness that makes Ealdred come to attention, ready to listen to whatever she has to say. “Why me?” she asks, quiet. Ealdred makes a questioning noise, and Yennefer elaborates, “Why choose me? Of all the people that could capture a Witcher’s attention, much less a _Griffin’s…_ ”

Ealdred makes a soothing noise, shifting so that he can reach up, sweep Yennefer’s hair from her face, tuck it behind her ear. “Because you are good,” he murmurs. “Your power and your courage, to come to the Wolf and swear yourself to him - they made me curious about you. But seeing you fight for Geralt, for his people and his cause, and seeing you love the cub - _that_ made me want to know you more. I wanted to know the woman behind the sorceress. I thought she must be _magnificent_ , even more so than the sorceress, to be so fierce and love so deeply. And I was right. You are powerful - you would be, even if you were not a sorceress. It shines from you, is an integral part of you. You want power, but you want to make a difference, because you _care._ ”

Yennefer’s gaze drops, but Ealdred doesn’t mind. He has time to convince her of his sincerity, and the way that she relaxes into his arms, the tentative arm that she wraps around his waist, tells him that she is willing to give him that time.


End file.
